In some sports-loving households around the country, there is still a
palpable sense of relief that the Cleveland Indians did not win the
World Series last fall. Not that all of the discontented are fans of the
victorious upstart (and since depleted) Florida Marlins. Rather, had
Cleveland succeeded, there might have been more of the uncritical,
light-hearted media focus on the team's ignominous mascot, Chief Wahoo.
A Cleveland victory would have been a symbolic defeat for Native
Americans whose historical pain is exacerbated by such racist
characterizations.

Chief Wahoo and similar sports-friendly television images marginalize
native people as effectively as do make-believe Indians on Thanksgiving
Day parade floats, ''Wild West'' lore in the form of the Lone Ranger and
Tonto, cigar store Indians, and many a John Wayne movie.

Although some have argued the contrary, Indian mascots and designations
of professional sports teams cannot be construed as some sort of homage
to Indian heritage and influence. In Chief Wahoo, as with popular images
of Thanksgiving, Indian people see no semblance of themselves. In 1996,
during a panel discussion on racism in St. Petersburg, Fla., Gabriel
Horn, a local Native American civil rights leader asked, ''Do you
understand what its like for a boy to point to a cartoonish picture of
an Indian and ask his father, `Dad, is that what we look like?'''

The Indians' four-game series is their first of the new season against
the Red Sox. With their visit comes the close-up camera shots of the
crimson-faced mascot with the oversized piano teeth, emblazoned on the
caps and uniforms of players and staff.

Imagine if a victorious Cleveland Indians team had assembled on the
front lawn of the White House earlier this year, and the team owner had
presented President Clinton with a large framed image of Chief Wahoo.
Imagine the Atlanta Braves, who fell to the Marlins in last year's
National League playoffs, awarding Clinton a life-sized tomahawk. It
would be an awkward moment, indeed, for a political leader who has
convened a national conversation on race to be a party to symbolism that
dehumanizes Indian people.

Ted Turner, owner of the Braves, and Jane Fonda, his wife and longtime
political activist, have been outspoken on human rights, international
development, the plight of women worldwide, and the threatened
environment. But, strangely, they have remained steadfast in refusing to
adopt a neutral, nonoffensive representation for one of Major League
Baseball's preeminent teams.

Racial stereotyping and imagery impugns not only the integrity and
dignity of Native Americans, but of all Americans. The American creed -
which Gunner Myrdal defined as the ideals of the essential dignity and
equality of all human beings - is betrayed whenever fans slash the air
with tomahawk chops or ''whoop'' it up in colorful '' redskins''
feathers and headgear in unflattering imitations of the original
Americans. Every time the boys of summer batter up in Atlanta and
Cleveland, or the Washington Redskins of the National Football League
suit up in the fall, Native Americans experience an ongoing slur against
their culture. It is all further evidence of our civic immaturity in
understanding ethnic and racial differences in an increasingly
multiracial society.

For years, organizations such as the American Indian Movement and the
Committee for Native American Rights have campaigned to change the
derogatory names and symbolism of sports franchises in Atlanta,
Cleveland, and Washington. Earlier this month, a municipal judge in
Cleveland dismissed charges against three protesters who burned an
effigy of Chief Wahoo outside Game 5 of last year's World Series.
Instead of sitting down with native groups for a serious discussion
about perceived racist symbols, the owners of the Indians, Braves and
Redskins have mainly responded to indigenous people's protests with
press releases, strategy meetings, sensitivity sessions and, ultimately,
major league business as usual.

However, outside of professional sports, Indian rights activists have
scored a victory. A 17-year campaign against the Los Angeles unified
school district to change the names of some school teams was rewarded
last September when the school board voted unanimously to junk the
Gardena Mohicans, the Birmingham Braves of Van Nuys, and the University
High Warriors.

The vote followed an impassioned speech by Sonny Sky Hawk, a Sicangu
Lakota from South Dakota, who lamented attitudes toward his people. Sky
Hawk had told Indian Coutry Today, ''We've been fighting with the
Washington Redskins, we've been fighting with the Atlanta Braves, and
that's a bigger bite to take, but this is the second-largest school
district in the United States.'' The decision to jettison the nicknames
was all the more significant because it was opposed by many parents and
students, who liked things the way they were.

Americans fiercely cling to traditions and symbols, whether in the form
of the Confederate flag, the Alamo, or Indian-Pilgrim lovefests at
Thanksgiving.

Fans of the 1997 American League champions are no different. While the
appellations Cleveland Indians and Chief Wahoo appeal to local pride,
they do little to engender team spirit in the nation.

If the tycoons in Cleveland, Atlanta, and Washington were to shed the
dehumanizing names and images, a lot more Americans might cheer with
them when they win at all.

Phillip W. D. Martin is a Nieman fellow at Harvard University and a
journalist specializing in international ethnic and racial conflict.

This story ran on page G02 of the Boston Globe on 04/19/98.